


After the Alienage

by B1nary_S0lo



Series: Rora Surana [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Cuddling, Dragon Age Quest: The Landsmeet, F/M, Family Reunions, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Some Fluff, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 01:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5987755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B1nary_S0lo/pseuds/B1nary_S0lo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In search of the family she hasn't seen in years, Rora takes a solo trip to the Denerim Alienage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Alienage

“Why didn’t you tell them who you are?” Alistair asked after the Alienage.

The two of them had gotten a table at the Gnawed Noble. It was their first moment alone in days, free of meetings and missions and fights, but they were both so exhausted they’d spent most of it in silence. Alistair drummed his fingers on the tabletop, and Rora stared off into space, thinking her own, unclear stream of thoughts. It was a second before she realized he’d spoken.

“Rora?” he prompted.

She looked up.

“Because… I don’t know.” She sighed. “What would have been the point?”

His tiredness showed in his face, but even with that his expression was attentive and concerned.

“What do you mean?” he said.

She fidgeted, fingers curling and uncurling around the handle of her mug.

“They didn’t remember me,” she said. “Maybe it’s better that way. I was always just… I don’t know. A liability to them. The strange little girl with the magic.”

“But surely your family would like to see you,” he said.

She frowned at the floor. She hadn’t been getting enough sleep. There was pressure behind her eyes and it was hard to focus on the conversation, to clarify her thoughts. She blinked.

“Only my grandmother’s left now,” she said. “She doesn’t want to see me.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true,” she said. It came out more sharply than she’d intended. She lowered her voice. “My grandmother treated me like a burden. She was  _happy_ when I was taken away.”

She spoke this last part with conviction, but in truth, there was no way for her to know for sure. Rora hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, hadn’t seen her grandmother’s reaction when the Templars led her away. But the words sounded right, almost expressed what she couldn’t. The emptiness and the doubt and the hurt whenever she thought of her family.

There was sympathy in his eyes. He reached for her hand under the table, fingers lacing with hers.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She couldn’t look at him. She felt guilty for exaggerating, and the doubt burned in her throat.

 

Too soon, it was time to head back to the estate. It was nearly dusk when their work finished. The Landsmeet was the following day, and they’d just completed one last meeting with Eamon and Teagan. They walked back to the guest wing in silence, and shared a brief, distracted kiss before they parted at the corridor that led to their rooms. They’d been assigned separate quarters. A move on Teagan and Eamon’s part, Rora suspected, to avoid word of a scandal getting out and ruining Alistair’s chances at kingship. The separation should have bothered her more, but there’d been so much going on that she barely had time to miss him. She practically fell into bed at the end of each day, titles and strategies and half-remembered conversations buzzing in her head before sleep claimed her. If Alistair tried to visit her, she wouldn’t have known, and he hadn’t mentioned anything.

Now as she stood in the doorway to her room her thoughts were not of Alistair, of the Landsmeet, or of their plan, even though they ought to have been. Her mind kept drifting instead to their conversation at the tavern, and to the events at the Alienage that day.

Going back had been… unsettling. Brought back emotions she hadn’t had in years. She’d almost been glad for the danger, the distraction of fighting an enemy and solving a problem. As long as she could focus on finding and killing Tevinter slavers, she wouldn’t have to think about the memories around every corner, memories that made her a lonely, frightened six year old again.

But that wasn’t even the worst of it. The truth was, not everything about going back had upset her. When she’d first crossed the bridge, seen the distant roofs of the cottages, she’d almost felt… happy. Like an unknown, unnoticed pressure on her lungs had lifted. It was then she’d begun to doubt, and that was more frightening than anything else.

She realized, suddenly, that she’d been standing unmoving in the doorway. She needed to focus, stop dreaming and prepare for the day ahead. She took a step into her room, only to hesitate again.

It couldn’t hurt, she thought, to go back to the Alienage one more time. Just to have a look. She wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Not if she didn’t want to.

Before she could change her mind, she grabbed a cloak from the wardrobe and left, shutting the door behind her.

She was halfway out the gates when she realized: Alistair. She should have gotten Alistair. She should have asked him to come with her, especially after she’d gone with him to see his sister. But she was already past the tavern, and if she went back now she feared she would lose her nerve. She bit her lip. It felt disloyal to leave him out of this. But, then, he was probably napping by now. Best not to bother him.

 

The streets of the Alienage were quiet and nearly empty. Most residents would be having dinner now, or recovering from the day’s events. She saw only the occasional people—children chasing each other in the dusty roads. A man, exhaustion in his eyes, leaning on a cracked foundation. Those she saw paid her little mind, though a few recognized her from earlier and nodded acknowledgment or shot her a smile. Still, she could tell that none of them recognized her from before that morning. She must have changed too much.

She was glad for the lack of attention. She was far too distracted by the reminders that lay around each turn, waited for her in every corner. The alleys she’d run through, chasing after the older children and hoping they wouldn’t call her names this time. The green, living scent of the Vhenadahl. The little spot she’d found beneath one of the stilted houses, invisible from the street, where she lit a fire in the palm of her hand for the first time. And through it all, her feet led her, automatically, down familiar pathways until she stood in front of the cottage where she’d grown up.

It was just as she remembered it. Unfinished wooden walls, maybe more weathered than before. Flowers growing by the steps, perhaps more wild. But it still stood. She’d walked the streets in a daze but now her heart began to pound again. She clenched her fists and there was sweat on her palms. After everything she’d been through, she felt now that she might not have the courage to climb those steps, to knock on that door. She had a strong urge to turn and run back to the estate, back to her room, and hide under the covers.

But she forced her feet to move. The steps creaked. She knocked on the door, once, then twice.

First, half with relief, half with disappointment, she thought no one was home. There was no hint of movement from inside for several long minutes. She was about to knock again when she heard it—the whine of the floorboards, the lock unlatching. The door opened.

The woman  in the doorway was smaller than Rora remembered. Fragile, even. Her grandmother had been a forbidding figure in her childhood, her back ruler straight, her sharp eyes missing nothing. In Rora’s years at the Circle, comparing her old life to her new, her disposition toward her grandmother had only grown sour. She was the tyrant who had snapped at her when she cried, told her sharply to buck up when she missed her mother. Clutched her wrists, so hard it hurt, and warned her not to show her powers to others. But the woman Rora saw now had a curved back, whiter hair, and softer eyes than she remembered.

Her grandmother looked her up and down, not speaking. Rora wondered if she, too, didn’t recognize her. She swallowed.

“Grandma,” she said, “it’s…”

Before she could finish, her grandmother wrapped her arms around her. At first, Rora started. She could only recall a handful of times when her grandmother had hugged her. Even now, her grandmother seemed unused to the gesture. Her body was too stiff, and she didn’t seem to know quite what to do with her hands, but it was a tight hug. Solid. Almost painful.

Rora felt something inside her loosen, a tightness in her chest she hadn’t even known was there. She hadn’t felt anything like this in years. Not from her books, not from magic, not even from Alistair. It was safety, and smallness. Contentment, and belonging.

She wrapped her arms around her grandmother and buried her face in her thin shoulder.

 

Inside, the two of them talked for hours. Really, her grandmother did most of the talking. She’d never been a woman of many words, but now she spoke at length, voice growing hoarse. She told Rora of happenings in the Alienage, an unfocused fourteen years worth of information. What mischief the humans had been up to. What had been torn down and rebuilt. She shared the fates of Rora’s old playmates, and of the women and men who’d looked after Rora when her mother and grandmother couldn’t. Those who’d shared their food and tried, best they could, to offer her love.

One thing they didn’t touch on much was Rora’s life, at the Circle or afterwards. Her grandmother didn’t ask, and Rora didn’t share. Once again, she felt some guilt, some sense that she was being disloyal to her friends but… It was nice to forget about the quest, about everything, just for a short time. To almost, almost pretend like they hadn’t happened. Perhaps this was wrong of her, but there was a kind of safety in this, too.

Finally, when the windows were dark and the streets quieter, Rora knew it was time to leave. Her grandmother followed her to the door. Her eyes were sharp, like they’d been in her childhood.

“Make sure you get enough to eat,” she said, voice stern. “You’re far too skinny.”

Rora nodded. “I’ll try.”

“And come back and say hello to some of us old folks once in awhile.”

“Of course. I’ll do my best.”

Her grandmother frowned, rocked on her heels.

“You’re really all right?” she said. “Happy? Well?”

Rora smiled. “Yes, Grandma.” She squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you again soon.”

 

The estate was quiet when she returned. They all must have been asleep. She made her way down the dark, silent halls. Her mind was back in the Alienage, full of its confusion and contentment. She felt the same tired, full feeling that came after she performed a challenging spell, or walked until her legs ached and her heart hummed. It was a feeling she wanted to share.

She slipped into his room without knocking, wanting to avoid the noise. He seemed to be asleep, but, when she shut the door the covers rustled and he poked his head up from beneath the blankets. He smiled vaguely when he saw her, eyes half closed.

“Hello,” he said, voice thick with sleep. “Fancy meeting you here.”

She grinned. “Can I join you?”

He patted the spot on the bed beside him. She slipped under the covers fully clothed. He wrapped a bare arm around her, pulled her close, and nestled his face in her hair.

“You’re not worried about the nobles?” he said into her neck.

She cuddled closer.

“They’re not here,” she said.

“True…”

His voice trailed off and his breathing slowed. In a moment he was asleep again, breath soft and ticklish against the back of her neck. She allowed her own eyes to close, just for a moment, before she nudged him awake again.

“Alistair,” she whispered.

He snorted.

“Hmm?”

With a finger, she absently traced patterns on his arm. “I went to the Alienage.”

He stirred a little more, and raised his head slightly.

“You went by yourself?” he said.

She nodded. “I thought about getting you, but… I think I needed to go alone.”

He didn’t answer at first, and she worried. Maybe he _was_ hurt. Maybe she _should_ have told him.

He raised himself up on an elbow. She could feel his eyes on her.

“How was it?” he said.

She turned onto her back so she could look up at him. His face wasn’t upset, or angry. Just curious. Ready to listen, as usual.

“It was good,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

“Good?” he said. “Really? They didn’t chase you away with torches and pitchforks?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not this time.”

“Ha,” he said. “So, I was right.”

“I suppose,” she said. “Stranger things have happened.”

Still smiling, he leaned down and kissed her. She closed her eyes and there was safety in this moment too, thought a different kind than she’d felt with her grandmother. It was wonderful, she realized, to have both kinds. The safety of him and the safety of her family, even if it was a small, imperfect family.

He broke the kiss, and she rolled over again so she could bury her face in his chest.

“Will you come with me next time?” she said, voice muffled.

She felt his fingers tighten along her back, and his breath caught for a moment. Her bubble of safety and contentment shuddered, just for a second.

“That would be nice,” he said.

There was something in his voice. Some hesitation, and she didn’t like it. But his chin rested on top of her head, and he was so soft and warm next to her that her worry faded. She closed her eyes. She would think about returning to her room before dawn later. As he breathed beside her, she could tell that he was still awake. She only had a moment to wonder why before she was asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this story about a young woman visiting her grandmother and a couple cuddling.


End file.
